“I do now most heartily desire to live but

to exalt Jesus; to live preaching and to

die preaching; to preach to perishing

sinners till I drop down dead.”

– Henry Grattan Guinness

Henry Grattan Guinness was born this date, 8/11/1835, in Kingstown In Taney, Dublin, Ireland. He was converted to Christ 1855 and began preaching that same year. In 1860 he married Fanny E. Fitzgerald.

In a separate work of grace he was filled with the Holy Spirit. So great was the blessing that came to him then that, he wrote, “I sought solitary places in the woods where I could pour out my soul in prayer, with strong crying and tears. Old things passed away, and all things became new. How could I keep silence, knowing as I did, that those around me (inIreland) were utterly ignorant of the salvation in which I was rejoicing, and most of them abject slaves of Roman superstition.”

Judges, members of Parliament, orators, Fellows of College, lights of the various professions, the rank and fashion of the metropolis came to hear him preach Christ.

“One priest threatened that I should be treated like Mr. Sprong, who had been shot at two months previously.” But he went on preaching and wrote “Many of the poor Roman Catholics in the neighborhood seem deeply impressed by the message of the Gospel and tears sometimes stole down their faces.”

In the hour of trial, Jesus, plead for me,
Lest by base denial I depart from Thee.
When Thou seest me waver, with a look recall,
Nor for fear or favor suffer me to fall.

With forbidden pleasures would this vain world charm,
Or its sordid treasures spread to work me harm,
Bring to my remembrance sad Gethsemane,
Or, in darker semblance, cross-crowned Calvary.

Should Thy mercy send me sorrow, toil and woe,
Or should pain attend me on my path below,
Grant that I may never fail Thy hand to see;
Grant that I may ever cast my care on Thee.

When my last hour cometh, fraught with strife and pain,
When my dust returneth to the dust again,
On Thy truth relying, through that mortal strife,
Jesus, take me, dying, to eternal life.

The above poem (hymn) was penned this date 10/13/1834 by James Montgomery.

James Montgomery was born 11/4/1771 in Irvine, Ayrshire, Scotland where his father John was a minister in the Moravian Church. In 1783, his parents were sent to the West Indies as missionaries and left James in the Moravian settlement near Ballymena, County Antrim, Ireland. He passed from this life, 4/30/1854, Mount, Shef­field, Eng­land.

Montgomery become the editor/owned of the Sheffield Iris. In addition he wrote 400 hymns including “Hail To the Lord’s Anointed” “Angels From the Realms of Glory,” “Go to Dark Gethsemane,” “Prayer is the Souls’ Sincere Desire.”

should not have been honest if I had not told you

that three great civilizations had agreed…in

condemning the very thing on which we have based

our whole life.

C S (Clive Staples) Lewis was born this date, 11/29/1898, at Belfast, Ireland. He eventually became a Christian (Church of England). He was a scholar, a writer, and a professor at both Oxford (1924-54) and Cambridge (1954-63). His writings have become “modern classics” Screwtape Letters (1942), Miracles (1947), Mere Christianity (1952). And even his allegorical The Chronicles of Narnia (1950-1956) are classics to multitudes of children. Lewis died 11/22/1963 but most Americans were so taken up by another death we did not notice the passing of one of the greatest modern writers.

Jesus, I my cross have taken, all to leave and follow Thee.
Destitute, despised, forsaken, Thou from hence my all shall be.
Perish every fond ambition, all I’ve sought or hoped or known.
Yet how rich is my condition! God and Heaven are still mine own.

Let the world despise and leave me, they have left my Savior, too.
Human hearts and looks deceive me; Thou art not, like them, untrue.
And while Thou shalt smile upon me, God of wisdom, love and might,
Foes may hate and friends disown me, show Thy face and all is bright.

Go, then, earthly fame and treasure! Come, disaster, scorn and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure; with Thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called Thee, “Abba, Father”; I have set my heart on Thee:
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather, all must work for good to me.

Man may trouble and distress me, ’twill but drive me to Thy breast.
Life with trials hard may press me; heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
Oh, ’tis not in grief to harm me while Thy love is left to me;
Oh, ’twere not in joy to charm me, were that joy unmixed with Thee.

Take, my soul, thy full salvation; rise o’er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find in every station something still to do or bear:
Think what Spirit dwells within thee; what a Father’s smile is thine;
What a Savior died to win thee, child of heaven, shouldst thou repine?

Henry Francis Lyte was buried this date, 11/20/1847, Nice, France. Though orphaned he was able to attended Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland, specializing in English poetry. Lyte married Anne Maxwell, 1818, at Bath, daughter of William Maxwell a minister of Monaghan. (Their very happy marriage produced at least one child, a daughter.) From Trinity College he received his MA in 1820.

Lyte did not have a strong body and in later years suffered from asthma and consumption. His last pastorate (twenty-three years) was a poor parish, pastoring the fishermen and families in Lower Brixham, England. (It was here he penned “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken.” Near the end of life (his health in worse condition) Lyte preached his last sermon and also wrote “Abide with Me, Fast Falls the Eventide.”

It was for his health sake that he had started to Italy but expired making it no farther than France. Lyte was born 6/1/1793, at Ed­nam, Scot­land.

Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer, the sublimest strains
That reach The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,
The Christian’s native air,
His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters Heav’n with prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice,
Returning from his ways,
While angels in their songs rejoice
And cry, “Behold, he prays!”

The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, in deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.

No prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads,
And Jesus, on th’eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes.

O Thou by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way,
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray.

James Montgomery was born this date, 11/4/1771, at Irvine, Ayrshire, Scotland. His family moved to a Mo­rav­i­an set­tle­ment at Grace­hill, near Bal­ly­mena, Coun­ty An­trim, Ireland when he was about five. After attending Ful­neck Sem­in­ary in York­shire and a couple of job tries he started working for a newspaper owner. James eventually bough him out, renamed it the “Sheffield Iris” and edited it of the next 32 years. He supported the abolitionist cause and equally or more strongly supported the cause of the British Bible Society and foreign missions. Montgomery is credited with writing some 400 hymns among which one finds the above and his famous “Angels from the Realms of Glory.” He died 4/30/1854, at Shef­field, Eng­land.

10/23/4004 B.C. – This it the DATE, worked out by Archbishop James Ussher, that God “created the heaven and the earth” (Gen 1.1). He went so far as to give a time – 9:00 a.m. GMT (Greenwich Mean Time). James Ussher (born 1/4/1581 inDublin, Ireland, died 3/21/1656) did more than any known man to mathematically arrive (working backward) at the dates of Creation and the Flood. He was a part if the Irish Church and was Calvinistic in his thinking.

Though many would not contend for this exact day, or hour 🙂 , the good bishop is correct in his approximation of this date for the earth and its heaven being made by the Creator.